


il valentino

by fanfictionandcats



Category: The Borgias (2011)
Genre: Gen, Poetry, poem, some religious & mythological parallels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-26
Updated: 2013-12-26
Packaged: 2018-01-06 05:57:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1103226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fanfictionandcats/pseuds/fanfictionandcats
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"the red cassock drags his shoulders down</p><p>and his arms shout to shake it off</p><p>his denomination hangs in a noose around his neck</p><p>the thick, bold letters of BORGIA branded across every inch of his skin."</p>
            </blockquote>





	il valentino

_a poem for Cesare Borgia._

* * *

  _“Guai a voi, anime prave - non isperate mai veder lo cielo.”_  


(Woe unto you, ye souls depraved - no hope of ever seeing the sky.)

* * *

 

the red cassock drags his shoulders down

and his arms shout to shake it off

his denomination hangs in a noose around his neck

the thick, bold letters of  _borgia_ branded across every inch of his skin

 

he is not the ecclesiastic his garb marks him to be

at night, his dreams are filled with

beautiful women, expensive wine

and boisterous victory; spoils of war

 

and God, what has He ever done for him?

life yields fortune for those who take it

and not those who sit around and wait

events of the past few years have taught him that.

 

so he prays to the father,

father of kings and monarchs now,

whom he has aided cheat his way

to power

 

_spare me this life_

_give me a sword and an army_

_and i shall deliver you the world_

_in return for freedom_

 

for under his skin, a raging storm roars

beating restlessly against his insides

demanding to destroy and consume and breathe

and it is getting harder and harder to silence.

 

_you are my eldest son, Cesare,_

_you were always destined to be a prince of the Church_

and there, speaking gospel

God on earth chains him down.

 

but the brother, he is golden in the father’s eyes

and  _he_  flies, sneering a devil’s grin

beloved and treasured as rain in the desert

but he is cocky, arrogant, and bound to fall

 

so alike to Icarus,

flapping loudly his waxen wings

towards the white Roman sun

too impulsive, he will burn and burn everything else with him.

 

and he will be the one trailing after him

dampening out fires of the brother’s wake

pulling the strings from offstage

his fingers adorned with jewels and his mind an eternal chess match

 

he splashes water on his face

and when he looks up

the reflection from the mirror is not his own

it is of his predecessor

 

for he is doomed

and his fate was decided for him long ago.

 


End file.
